


The Onigiri Option

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, spoilers for chapter 380
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Miya twins, though not in possession of a small fortune, must be in want of a professional club.But Suna's seen the weariness in Osamu's eyes and wonders how long he'll continue this facade.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 17
Kudos: 411
Collections: SunaOsa





	The Onigiri Option

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a fic for Suna's birthday but as twisty as his torso, this fic became a third year Inarizaki angsting over their futures fic. 
> 
> Special shoutout to San and Ginny for being my SunaOsa triumvirate of snark. You might recognise some lines as we've been bouncing them around for a week.

It had been a rotten day. Atsumu consumed with a fervour even Osamu had trouble keeping up with, insisted they all stay behind and practise serves. Suna, watching the coaches roll their eyes but say nothing to stop their captain, had almost staged a mutiny seeing Gin stifling several yawns and Osamu rubbing his shoulder, but … well … Atsumu _was_ their captain, and he guessed there was a reason for this sudden need for everyone to practise.

“It’s not like we have a tournament lined up,” Gin moaned (but under his breath).

“Not an important one,” Suna agreed, “But we have that round robin against the universities, don’t we, and—” He stopped abruptly, not wanting to voice the next part in case it wasn’t true, or even worse was true. Gin waited for him to continue, but the good thing about having him there, rather than Osamu, was he wouldn’t push for an answer, and soon the subject dropped.

“C’mon, really tighten that angle!” Atsumu yelled. “Granny could do better than that!”

“Hey, Granny hasn’t just sat a maths test, then had to skip lunch cuz you wanted a talk, and Granny ain’t being forced into twenty serves,” Osamu yelled back. “Granny knows what’s important!”

“This is important,” Atsumu retorted and snarled at his twin.

“Whatever. I’m hungry,” Osamu complained, and tossing the ball at the next in line, he walked towards a bento box on the side with the water bottles and helped himself to an onigiri.

“Did he really skip lunch?” Gin asked, awestruck.

“Official school canteen lunch, yes,” Suna replied, “But he had another bento box and ate some of Atsumu’s, too.” He narrowed his eyes. “That might also explain why ‘Tsumu’s so crabby.”

“Hunger, is that all?”

“They’re not twins for nothing,” Suna said lightly, and watched as one of the first years sent a beautiful jump float over the net. “Oh, nice serve!”

“Yeah, real good!” Atsumu agreed and grinned.

“Hard to believe he c’n be nice, right,” muttered Osamu, slipping back into the line.

“He’s certainly been on your back recently,” Gin said. “More than usual, I mean. Are things … um … okay?”

Osamu shrugged, exchanged a look with Suna, flushed a little, then stared at his fingers. “He wants us to beat the uni guys, that’s all. I kinda … Ah, it don’t matter.”

And just as he’d done with Suna, Gin didn’t press, but offered a sympathetic smile before striding to the base line to take his serve.

“That’s how it’s done!” Atsumu shouted when Gin’s serve rifled tight and true into the far corner, wiping the line. “Watching, ‘Samu?”

“Naw, missed it,” Osamu said gracelessly, his mood switching from understanding to glowering the instant Atsumu dragged him into the conversation.

It was afterwards, when even Atsumu had called it a day, and the mental violence between the pair of them had led to Suna grabbing Osamu by the arm, while Gin distracted Atsumu so they could make an escape, that Suna broached the subject not just of this practise but the atmosphere of the last few days.

“He wants to leave a legacy,” Suna said, stirring his coffee. “That’s why he’s pushing everyone so hard. He won’t be captain soon, won’t have this team to play for. Hell, none of us will, and …” Trailing off he reached across the café table and trapped Osamu’s hand under his. “You seem resigned to this, as if you’ve already left.”

“Maybe I have,” he muttered, and leant back in his chair staring at the ceiling. “’Tsumu reckons there’ll be scouts at this tournament thing.”

He left a beat before replying, keeping his voice deceptively light and even. “So I heard. Is that a problem? It’s not like you to suffer from nerves.”

“Not nervous,” Osamu replied. “Jus’—” He inhaled deeply, and then moved his head down, staring at Suna from across the table. “I’m not interested.”

“Huh?”

“Playin’ pro.”

“Oh… that.”

It was Osamu’s turn to look bemused. “You ain’t surprised?”

“Nope. The four of us have been talking about this all year, ever since careers became a big issue, and when Aran-san turned pro. We’ve had Gin going over stats, Atsumu checking tryouts and moaning he has to complete school before signing up, and I’ve... well, I’ve been checking out some options, too”

“Like what?”

“That’s not important right now,” Suna said dismissing him. “My point is you’ve stayed more or less silent. Sure, you’ve chipped in with some observations on the leagues and the top teams. You showed Atsumu that article about Bokuto signing for the Jackals, and Ushiwaka for the Adlers. But you’ve not mentioned yourself at all. Those articles, it’s like you made a point of showing him where other wing spikers had gone.”

“I’m sick of competin’ with him over everything, y’know,” Osamu sighed.

And he’d heard it before, so many times, especially since they’d become more than friends, more than teammates and classmates. But somehow this was different; Osamu was no longer wallowing in the pitifulness of being the overlooked twin, who nonetheless still could not give up the fight to better his brother. This time it felt real, as if he were genuinely done with it all.

“Has he turned you off volleyball?” he asked, wondering.

But Osamu shook his head, even offered a small smile. “Naw, he couldn’t do that, but I’d like it to be fun again.”

“So … do you have a plan?”

“Not really, just more an idea what I don’t want,” he mused. ”You know when I do my best thinkin’, Tarou?”

“Um, going for a run? On the toilet? In the bath?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Last year, when Mom got really pissed off with us fightin’ after Nationals, she ordered us out of our room. She told Atsumu to rake the leaves in the garden, and I was sent over to Granny’s to help her. She was cookin’, right, makin’ onigiri, and her onigiri, well … you know ‘cuz you’ve tasted it.”

“They are very good.”

“And I started helpin’ her. Now at first, you gotta think about what you’re doing. Is the rice sticky enough, what filling should you put in? Will they roll up nicely? Would stock improve the flavour? And like, I LOVE my Granny’s onigiri, but I started thinkin’ about other flavours and also … how relaxin’ it was making them, and how rewarding when she tasted one and said it was good, and …” He blushed a little. “I must sound like a jerk.”

“Your eyes lit up then,” Suna murmured. “Eating always was your favourite part of Nationals.”

“Ugh, no. Made off site and bussed in.” He pulled a face showing his disgust so blatantly that the waitress approaching them recoiled.

Suna laughed. “Two cupcakes please,” he said to her, “and two refills. Think we’ll be here a while.”

They finished their cakes and coffee, Osamu becoming visibly happier with every bite and slurp, a contented smile on his face as he hoisted his kit bag over his shoulder and left the cafe.

“You know, you could quit the team now,” Suna said. “You don’t have to play in the round robin.”

“Yeah, I could,” Osamu replied and rubbed the back of his head. “But there are scouts there an’ everything.”

“But you don’t want to play!”

“‘Tsumu does,” he replied, and then tugging on Suna’s scarf, he pulled him closer, petalling a soft, unobtrusive kiss on his temple. “And so do you. The best chance of bein’ scouted is if we win because we’re a strong team. I ain’t quitting yet, okay.”

“H-how did you know?”

“You’re not the only one that notices stuff, ‘Tarou. I watched you readin’ up on universities, when I know you hate studyin’, and you’re still turning up early for practise. You coulda quit too, but you haven’t.”

“I’d like the chance,” Suna muttered, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

“An’ I’ll help.”

“Thank you.” He sniffed. “Wanna come back to mine? We could both not study for this Geography test together.”

“Naw.” He puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders, eyes on the road ahead. “I need to talk to the captain.”

His parents weren’t home when he returned, but there was rice in the cooker. Hearing music start up from their bedroom, loud and with a thumping base, Osamu resisted the urge to go and yell at his brother to keep it down. Instead he got out a board, sprinkled some salt on his hands and began to mould the still hot rice with his hands. He was on his tenth when above the music he heard the _swiff_ of the kitchen door sliding open, and felt the presence of another in the room.

“What you makin’?” Atsumu asked.

“What does it look like?”

“Um… just wondered what flavours, and whether you’ll use up all the tuna.”

“Prolly will.”

“Scrub!”

 _Let’s not start this again._ Osamu glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Atsumu glaring at him, but was rather taken aback to see of all things how forlorn he looked. “I’ll make some for you,” he said. “How ‘bout that?”

“You will?”

“Yeah, can’t bear watchin’ your pathetic attempts crumble.”

“Hey!” But he didn’t sound as outraged as he usually did. “Thanks.”

They sat together tucking in to the onigiri, and Osamu didn’t talk but listened as Atsumu not only savoured his food, but threw out a few compliments. He finished before Osamu, but instead of leaving the table to return to his room, he stayed where he was and sipped his water.

“This tournie at the weekend,” he began.

“It’s important, I know that,” Osamu cut in.

“I know it ain’t my only chance.” He coughed and corrected himself. “I mean not ‘our’ only chance, but it’s a good one. I think the Jackals’ guy will be there.”

“They run open tryouts. ‘Tsumu.”

“I know, but makin’ an impression before then is vital. And…” He swallowed. “Look, we need to look as if we can play as a team, as if we ain’t arguin’ all the time because, like, Inarizaki are used to us, but—”

“Stop.”

“Huh. I was only goin’ to say I’ll keep a lid on my temper if—”

“’Tsumu, please, listen. Just for once, listen and don’t say anythin’ till I’m done.”

“And if I don’t.”

Osamu smirked. “Then I’ll fuckin’ deck you on court in front of the scouts.”

“Oh.” He zipped his lips, then grinned before unzipping them. “Go on.”

“I’ll play in the tournament. I’ll try my best at practise and I’ll rattle off as many punishment serves uncomplaining if that’s what you want, but …”

Atsumu opened his mouth then rapidly closed it.

 _Okay, let’s do this. Say it quickly and maybe he won’t process it and I can kid him it’s all fine and then when I don’t turn pro, I can at least tell him ‘well I did mention it’._ He hissed in a breath.

“I don’t want to play anymore. Not professionally, anyway.”

“Oh.”

There was no reaction, just a blank. It wasn’t that he thought his brother was in shock, simply that the words did not compute, that he couldn’t comprehend why anyone would want to give up. And Osamu tried to think what to say, whether to add something else or offer him some more food, but as Atsumu stared at the table, he munched his way through the last onigiri and contemplated prawns instead of tuna.

“I wanted us to be the dream team.”

“I know. But it’s not the same for me. Ain’t been for a while.”

“That spark, right?” Atsumu moped; then he blinked. “Hey, is that why you keep babbling on about Bokuto?”

“Uh… maybe. I want you to want to set for other wing spikers, and Bokuto’s special.”

“And probably wouldn’t kick box me across the court.”

“True.” He began to stack the bowls. “You don’t need me to show how brilliant you are, ‘Tsumu, you know that?”

He heaved out a sigh. To Osamu’s surprise, Atsumu didn’t look angry or exasperated, more resigned and a little sad. “We’ve got a connection, though,” he muttered. “Not sure I’ll get that again.”

“C’mon, don’t you get excited thinkin’ ‘bout other players you can set for, stretchin’ their limits?”

“Not like I do with you.” He smiled. “Was fun when ‘Toshi slammed that sweet cross though.”

“There you go.”

“What’ll you do?”

“I’ll think of something.”

It was a week after their last tournament when they converged around Gin’s house. He wanted to host a small farewell party, just for the four of them.

Osamu brought food, a wide, wide platter of onigiri, of various flavours. Suna, in charge of dessert, presented them all with Chuupet, then snorting at the eyerolling, handed over a box of cupcakes. Atsumu brought soda, telling _them_ to have it as serious athletes only drank water.

His grin was wider than Osamu had ever seen, and although he knew why, he felt a slight pang that Atsumu was once again stepping ahead on a path of his own making. Because even if he didn’t want to join him on that path, there was still that sense he was left behind.

“So, the Jackals have personally invited me to tryouts!” Atsumu announced, barely before he’d taken his shoes off.

“That’s cuz they weren’t there,” Suna wisecracked, "and didn’t see the mess you made of your third serve.”

“Hey, the crowd put me off. And it still went over,” he protested. “Don’t see you comin’ at me with your list of offers.”

“No list,” Suna replied, and settled into the sofa next to Osamu.

“Please don’t start snoggin’ or I’m going home,” Atsumu said, and pulled on Gin’s sleeve. “Ground rules, right, ‘Toshi!”

He smiled nervously and handed out the bowls. “I … um … have some news, too.”

“Oh Oh OHHH! Whoooooo?” Atsumu demanded, face creasing into a smile.

“No one. Well, not yet. I’m going to do a … a horticulture course in Osaka. Got the acceptance letter yesterday. And there are a few good teams around, so … I’ll see what happens.”

“A keen bean intent on growing beans,” Suna replied, and gave Gin one of his small smiles. “Well done. Pleased for you.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” both Osamu and Atsumu intoned.

“These are great,” Gin said, helping himself to an onigiri. “Thank your granny will you?”

“Uh, I can, but actually I made ‘em,” Osamu replied. “Kinda what I like doing now, at least while I work out what I wanna do.”

“Sell these!” Ginjima joked, then his eyes widened “No, no, you really should! They’re amazing. Seriously tasty and gahhhd, I never want to eat anything else.”

“Careful, ‘Samu’ll give you his volleyball is like rice speech,” Atsumu warned. “What was it? ‘Volleyball is a lot like rice, because you eat your fill but real quick you always want more.”

“Eating rice don’t make me want to kick the shit out of everything after though,” Osamu murmured, and glanced at Suna. “What about you, ‘Tarou? How ‘bout you tell ‘em your news?”

Atsumu whiplashed his attention away from Gin and directly to Suna. “ _You_ have news?”

“JPT trial next month. Personal invitation,” Suna replied. He leant across the table picking up a rice ball with his chopsticks. “These look good. Mouthwatering, ‘Samu.”

“JPT!” Both Atsumu and Ginjima stared, astounded.

“They’re league one! That’s wonderful,” Ginjima said, eyes wide and no trace of shade in his tone. “Aw, well done. Competition’s fierce. Oh OHHH! Doesn’t the Fukurodani middle blocker play there?”

“Mmm, he does.”

“Different styles though,” Osamu put in. “Your twisty torso musta impressed them.”

“Impresses you,” Suna teased.

“Ughh! Some of us are eating!” Then after swallowing down a prawn, Atsumu took in a breath. “Guess I should congratulate you, Rin.”

“Don’t force yourself,” Suna snapped.

“Naw, I’m pleased for ya, and I look forward to whoopin;’ your ass across the net,” Atsumu said and then sniffing he wiped a hand across his face, before gulping down some water. “Just… sorry, but the thought Samu _won’t_ be playing, when _you_ are, I can’t … this don’t register!”

“Gosh, thanks,” Suna murmured, but he settled back into the futon, smirking as he bit into an onigiri.

Osamu was silent, knowing without asking that for once his twin was sincere. It wasn’t that he begrudged anyone else success, but that he wanted Osamu to share that feeling with him. But the schism had started years before, and maybe this was a way to build a shaky footbridge so they could connect off court as well as on.

“Osamu is playing, though,” Suna said after a while, grinning when three faces stared at him, Gin surprised, Atsumu enraged and Osamu bemused.

“With me,” Suna explained, and slid his hand onto Osamu’s knee. “Off court. We’ll be playing … all the time.”

“NO! NO! NO! I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT!”

Walking back with Atsumu, telling Suna he’d call him later, Osamu began to whistle the Inarizaki team song. He waited for ‘Tsumu to join in, but he was kicking pebbles across the pavement, too lost in thought to listen.

“You’ll find someone,” he muttered.

“I don’t need a date,” Atsumu scorned. “I’m not remotely jealous of you and that dumbass middle blocker.”

“I mean a partner on court,” Osamu replied. “Someone you connect with. Someone you’ll toss to so perfectly, it’ll look like they have wings.”

“You think so.”

“I know so.”

They walked a bit further, Atsumu joining in with the whistle, both lighter now.

“Jeez, you know what,” Osamu said. “I’m hungry again.”

“Me, too. Race ya to Granny’s,” Atsumu replied and without waiting for an answer he sped off down the street.

He watched him for a split second; then with a loud yell he raced after his brother. Some things never changed, however much the path deviated, and right at that moment, Osamu wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
